Abandoned Angel (18 page)

Tiffany asked him again. “Do one with me Blaze?”

“Sure, why not?” said Blaze as he reached up to take the pot back. Marge reached for it next though, taking it from his hand.

“Hell, give me some of that,” she said; wanting to join in on the fun. “It’s been a hell of a day already,” she stated, shaking her head, disgusted by Tiffany’s appearance.

Blaze did as she asked, laughing to himself, amused by her demeanor. When she was done, he took a hit and then got up to leave.

“Be careful tonight Tiff, they are all in a mood,” warned Blaze.

“Yeah, I know,” she said looking sad. “Doc said I can hang out here for a while. Spike won’t come looking again, at least not as long as I am with these guys.”

“Thanks Tiffany,” Blaze said, looking into her rounded blue eyes. “You really did do good.”

Tiffany grinned sweetly as Blaze stepped out of the tent. That was all she needed to hear to have the beating be worth it.

 “What was that all about?” asked Doc when Blaze stopped beside him.

“Just checking in on Tiffany.”

“She was hurting pretty bad when she showed up here Blaze. Know anything about that?”

Doc was obviously upset with the situation.

“Yeah, I think she was trying to help Angelina,” responded Blaze, making sure no one else could hear. He had no reason to be anything but straight with Doc. They had been friends for a while now and relied on each other.

“He could have fucked her up bad Blaze.”

Doc’s anger grew. He liked Tiffany, but more importantly, Marge loved her like a daughter, and he was very fond of Marge. To have the girl beat because of an outsider was inexcusable.

“You don't think I know that?”

“Of course you do Blaze, you have it all under control don’t you?” remarked Doc. The irritated man tossed his cigarette to the ground.

“Fuck you,” Blaze snapped, feeling guilty about the hurt inflicted on Tiffany. “I didn't ask her to get in the middle of this.” Already angry with himself, Blaze did not need Doc’s sarcasm.

“Why the hell are YOU in the middle of it Blaze? You owe Angelina nothing! YOU are a club member, don’t forget that!” he ordered.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don't,” shot Blaze stubbornly. “Either way, I am not going to let her get caught up in this . . . fucking life!” he said motioning to the lifestyle around him. Blaze walked away angry, confused, and sick of it all.

He calmed his nerves by taking another hit on his way back to his camp. Angelina was where he had left her. She stood when he walked up.

“Is she ok?” Angelina asked, concerned about Tiffany.

“Yeah, she'll be fine.”

Angelina ignored his tone.

“What happened? Did Spike hurt her?”

“Some.”

“Some? What does that mean?” Angelina needed a straight answer. Rusty took her son because she was not strong enough to project him, and now, Tiffany was hurt because of her.

“She's bloodied, bruised and sore, is that what you want to know?” Blaze barked, furious over the situation. He wished that Angelina had never shown up at the bar.

Angelina did not answer; what could she say? Instead, she slowly turned away from Blaze, returning to their blanket. She suddenly felt exhausted again, both physically and emotionally.

“Do you mind if I take a nap until we leave?” she asked, not wanting to upset Blaze any further. Sleeping was the only thing she wanted to do to kill time.

“We aren't leaving today,” Blaze replied, gruffer than he intended. Seeing her shoulders drop caused him to feel guilty for blaming her for what Spike had done.

“Oh,” was all she said, holding in the tears that were close to falling.

Angelina desperately wanted to find Justin and have the trip over. She wanted her life back. As hard as it was, it was better than this.

Blaze knelt behind Angelina and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

“You sleep if you want, but in a bit you are going to have to join the rest of us,” he explained. “You will be better off if you just party with me. Who knows, you might have some fun. We are not as bad as you think. Just come and try to fit in with the other women, and stay close to me.” Blaze squeezed her shoulder lightly before standing up.

“I'll keep an eye on you while you sleep.”

Angelina did not answer. He would have heard the deafening sound of depression and disappointment in her voice if she had. She let herself believe that they would be closer to Iowa today, and instead she was sitting in the same place as yesterday, no closer to finding her son. Angelina laid her body down knowing that this time she would not be able to fall asleep.

Maxine returned from getting groceries to find the shabby house empty. Carefully, she carried the sacks into the kitchen and placed them on the worn counter. As she started to shift through the bags, she wondered where her grandchild was; almost forgetting that he was there in Iowa with her. Having Rusty show up after all these years was an answer to her prayers. She was a lonely woman, living out on the farm, and the older she became - the harder it was for her to take care of things on her own.

Through the kitchen window, she noticed Justin in the back yard teetering on an old swing set. The image reminded her of Rusty when he was younger. They looked a lot alike. When Rusty was a child, he spent a good amount of time sitting in the same spot, with his small feet dangling into the dirt, as Justin was currently doing. Maxine smiled as she watched her beautiful grandchild entertaining himself. She was happy to have him around the house. The simple woman looked forward to making a meal for the three of them, and happily proceeded to put away her groceries.

When she glanced out of the window a second time, a different image from the past filled her head, wiping the smile from her face. She recalled Rusty sitting on that same swing, hunched over, after his dad had punished him. He would sit there, for hours by himself, dealing with the pain of the beating. Rusty never said a word and never came in looking for his mother to comfort him after it happened. Maxine had learned to fight the urge to run out and cradle her boy in her arms after finding him like that. They had discovered that if she tried to comfort him while being punished, his father would only spank him again for “acting like a baby,” and then punish Maxine as well. Instead of cradling her son, she would watch him through the window as she was watching Justin now. When her young boy would look up at her, she would put her hand against the glass to let Rusty know that she knew he was hurting, and that she wished she could help. Sometimes Rusty would hold high onto the chains of the swing and then release one of his small hands, holding it flat against the air, as if he were placing it against his mothers. They were careful not to let his father see them communicating this way, afraid of his reaction. It broke Maxine’s heart, but she was always too weak to try to put an end to it. Over the years she managed to convince herself that standing there signaling to him was enough. She hated herself now for allowing the process to have happened in the first place.

As Maxine stood and watched Justin sitting on that same swing, she realized that he was crying softly to himself. Maxine’s husband was gone. He could not hurt her anymore. There was no reason for her to allow the small boy to suffer alone. With this realization, she ran out of the house to see what had happened to her grandchild.

“Justin baby, why are you crying?” she asked, the image of Rusty as a young child still taunting her mind. Tears streamed down her grandson’s rosy cheek.

“Daddy got mad at me,” Justin sniffled.

“He did? I’m so sorry baby,” said Maxine as she placed her fragile fingers against his young, soft shoulder. She could see red fingerprint marks on Justin’s bicep where Rusty had grabbed him. This infuriated her.

“Come in the house with me baby,” she said, trying to hold back her own tears.

Justin shook his head no and continued to hold onto the rusted chains of the swing. He kept his head down, afraid to move.

“Why not?”
Maxine asked, already knowing the answer.

“Daddy said I have to stay here and think about what I did,” he murmured, snot beginning to run down his mouth. Maxine wiped it away with the sleeve of her old-fashioned flowered dress.

“What did your dad say you did?” she asked, afraid to hear the answer.

Justin sniffled. “I said he is a liar.” His little voice quivered, but he continued with emphasis. “But HE IS Grandma.” He was determined that he was right and wanted to make sure that his grandma knew it too.

“Daddy told me Mama didn’t want to come see me. Daddy told me she wanted to leave me. That’s not true Grandma!” His eyes filled with tears again, unwilling to believe what his dad had said. He knew how much his mommy loved him. She told him so all the time.

“Mama loves me, she does,
I
know she does.” He loved his mom and wanted her to come get him, and take him away from the awful farm. It was not any fun there with his dad. He was mad all the time. He scared Justin. Justin knew that his mommy would not leave him, regardless as to what his dad said. He needed his grandma to understand.

“I saw him Grandma, I saw him be mean to her,” he blurted. Justin stopped suddenly, realizing that he had said too much. He would be in even more trouble if his daddy knew what he had said.

“What do you mean Sweetie?” Maxine asked. “How was he mean to your mommy?” She was suddenly concerned about Angelina, realizing that Rusty must have taken Justin without permission.

The lonely woman had really taken to Angelina when they had met. She was kind and sweet, and loving. In addition, she had a soft humor about her that Maxine really enjoyed, though she did not seem to express it much in front of her husband. After that initial visit to the farm, the women talked on the phone weekly, and Angelina sent photos of the baby after he was born. The communication slowed down after that, but Maxine appreciated the regular calls, and the photos that Angelina sent to her of the family. She loved watching baby Justin grow into a toddler. Then, Rusty’s father died, and Rusty stopped all communication with his mother. He no longer wanted anything to do with the old woman. Angelina, on the other hand, continued to send letters and photos of Justin, without Rusty’s knowledge. The phone calls stopped though, and Maxine missed their conversations. She had grown very fond of her daughter-in-law and prayed that Rusty had not turned into his father, and hurt her.

Maxine asked Justine again, “How was he mean, Justin, what did he do to your mommy?”

Justin hesitated, but continued after looking around for his dad, and not finding him in sight. All of the recent changes in his life confused him. He had trouble deciding what was real and what was make believe.

“I don’t know Grandma.” Justin cried harder now, afraid to answer. “But, Mama does love me. He is a liar Grandma, Mama does love me.” Justin’s body heaved as he sobbed the words. He missed his mom very much and wanted to go home. It nearly broke Maxine’s heart to hear the sorrow drowning in his small voice - both as a grandma, and as a mother.

“Yes, your mama does love you,” she said as she took him in her arms. “She loves you more than anything in this whole wide world.”

Maxine knew that Angelina would never have voluntarily left her son as Rusty had said. She started to wonder where the young mother could be. Doubt swarmed her head and fear crept into her imagination.

Restless, Angelina lay on the ground, unable to fall asleep. She was not actually tired, just depressed and disappointed. This trip she was on felt more like a nightmare, and she longed to sleep, just so she could wake up and have the dream be over.

After hearing commotion coming from the center of camp, she debated giving up on the nap in favor of joining Blaze and the others, but was nervous about doing so. Instead, she lay there on the hard ground with her mind racing. When she could not take it anymore, Angelina sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. She folded her arms over them and placed her forehead on top of her limbs. She felt completely wearied and ready to give up. She wished she could just fall asleep and quit pondering. Sweat gathered on the brim of her forehead. She thought about how nice a swim would feel, wondering if Blaze would go for that. Thirsty, she licked her dry lips and wished she were somewhere else having a glass of lemonade. She envisioned sitting in the sun while watching her son play in the yard. Since she was not, she decided that she could go for an ice-cold beer instead. After working her fingers through her straight hair, she slowly rose from the ground. She dusted herself off before heading to the center of camp. Angelina felt anxious, not scared or intimidated, as she had before. Unable to pin point her mood, she could not recall ever feeling that way before. She suddenly had no nervousness or uncertainty about her sense of being. She just WAS.

Blaze was standing with Doc, Marge, Tiffany and Cookie, as well as a couple of people that she didn’t recognize. The men seemed to be in deep conversation while the women listened to what they had to say. Tiffany skipped towards her when she saw her coming, a grin plastered across her bruised face.